Regression
by Roronoa Emi
Summary: (OLD, kind of blah and ooc. On semi-permanent hiatus) Javert finally captures Valjean but losses a part of himself. Will the elusive convict be able to help his friend recover his memory? Will Javert take the law into his own hands? Roommates universe.
1. Chapter 1

My first Les Mis fic. Inspiration struck my after reading issue 166 of AsheRhyder's "Roommates" on . (This was written before issue 167 in which we actually find out what happens between the two of them.) So the first part is somewhat similar but everything else will be from my own imagination. If you have read Roommates, the only thing that fits in with the latest arc is Javert and his warped memory. So yes, that's that and I hope you enjoy.

Javert and Jean Valjean (c) Victor Hugo  
>Roommates by AsheRhyder [link]<p>

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><p>"The peasants of the Asturias believe that in every litter of wolves there is one pup that is killed by the mother for fear that on growing up it would devour the other little ones. Give a human face to this wolf's son and you will have Javert."<p>

-Victor Hugo

1

Jean Valjean sighed heavily. He had been working all afternoon yet the stack of papers on his desk seemed to have decreased very little in size. But despite his frustration he had to admit that the stack _was_ quite impressive. How all that paperwork could amass over the course of a day left him at a loss for words. Taking a sip of tea to steady his nerves he took the next document from the top of the pile. His brow furrowed as he read the paper. It was a complaint. Not an unusual thing for him to be given considering his position as superintendent of the building. It was the content of the report that caused him to worry.

Putting the paper into a different pile he filed through the next few only to find them all of a similar nature. Valjean knew that there were several people in the complex who were endowed with certain… magical, and therefore troublesome, abilities. A M. Jareth was most often the cause of minor damages and mishaps but nothing like this had ever come up. Valjean sat back in his chair, pondering how to deal with the situation. At last an idea struck him.

"Javert is friends with the fellow," he thought to himself, "and I'm sure he would be grateful to do something more suited to his abilities. I don't think he would mind a little investigating." Smiling, he picked up the telephone on his desk and began to dial the former policeman's number.

Three sharp raps on the office door, the customary knock of a Parisian official, caused Valjean to jump in surprise. He chuckled in spite of himself at his reaction, holding a hand to his racing heart. He had been on the run for so much of his life that even in death he could not put aside his instincts.

"Come in," he called, putting the phone down and going back to his work. The door opened and closed quietly on its hinges, then the sound of heavy tread met his ears. It stopped in front of his desk and he could see a tall figure out of the corner of his eye. He looked up to greet his guest only to be caught completely by surprise. Before him stood Javert. At first Valjean was pleased to see him but something about Javert's appearance sent a foreboding chill through the older man. He was dressed in his old uniform, irreproachably neat and clean as per usual. But his face, though normally stoic, now held a look of disdain and – he swallowed hard at the thought – triumph.

"Ah, Javert," he began politely albeit a little uneasily "perfect timing as always. I was hoping you might…"

"It seems you have once again wriggled your way into a position of power and influence within a respectable society," he interrupted roughly. "But I shall make sure it is the last time. You will come with me now. And you will address me as Monsieur l'Inspecteur, prisoner 24601."

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><p>Please tell me what you think. The review button is staring at you with big lonely puppy-dog eyes saying "click me!" Ok not really but reviews would be nice. : ) Thanks.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, Chapter 2. If some things seem really strange, I must remind the reader that this story is AU and therefore does not take place in France. If you wish to learn more about the world they now inhabit, please follow the link given in Chapter 1. To clarify, the world is one with all the technology and advancements of our own however, both Javert and Valjean are still wearing their period clothing (because I love the way it looks and simply can't imagine them in anything else). …

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><p>2<p>

Valjean's eyes widened in terror and disbelief. He thought that he and Javert had reconciled their differences. They had even been able to have polite conversations from time to time. He had observed Javert from afar and noticed how he got along, mostly begrudgingly but not uncivilly, with his flat-mate and other acquaintances. He also attended a support group with other members of the building and had made significant progress. But now the former status of predator and prey had been reestablished and Valjean, although sure he could win if it came to blows, felt like an animal in a trap. Attempting to hide his apprehension, he stood calmly and looked the inspector in the eyes.

"Monsieur, for what crime am I being charged?" Javert threw back his head and laughed derisively at his adversary.

"Have you forgotten? Has old age addled your brain? You are a convict! You have committed serious crimes, among them breaking the orders of your parole, and are sentenced to life in prison and possibly death. I doubt you will obtain leniency _this_ time." Despite the threat, Valjean stood his ground.

"A crime cannot be transferred through death."

"Death? What nonsense is this?"

"We're dead Javert! Both of us. Don't you remember?"

"Dead? You senile old fool!"

"Look around you! We're not in France anymore. We're not even in the same century. Look!" Valjean picked up the telephone he had been using moments before. "This device runs on something called electricity. It doesn't exist in our time."

He stared at the device, dumbfounded. It was true he had never seen anything like it and as he looked around, the office itself was filled with objects supremely foreign to him. Furious as he was, Javert could not shake Valjean's explanation. It didn't take long, however, for duty to overshadow curiosity.

"Regardless of where or…when…we are, you are still a criminal and a thief! It is my duty to arrest you and see justice done."

Valjean sighed, his heart heavy. Javert had come such a long way in his time here. Why had he regressed back to before his death? And why had he forgotten everything about the new world in which they lived?

His options were few. He could run, it would be simple enough to knock the inspector out, or he could go with him. He had come to regard Javert as a friend regardless of everything the man had put him through. He did not blame him for doing his duty. Javert was an officer of the law, after all. And now, in order to help his pursuer and to find out just _what_ was wrong with him, Valjean needed to allow him to finally finish their lifelong chase.

Stepping out from behind his desk, he stood in front of Javert, hands extended before him in surrender. A look of surprise and confusion flashed almost imperceptibly across the inspector's face. Valjean had seen it, Javert's moment of hesitation. No doubt he had expected a fight, or at least some form of resistance. But the act of pure surrender was so unlike the Valjean he knew that it left him stunned. He was quick to collect himself but not quite quick enough. The younger man bristled at letting his weakness show to his enemy, angrily berating himself. He hated weakness.

Javert grabbed Valjean roughly by the collar and spun him around, yanking his arms back behind him. The manacles bit into his wrists, clamped down as tightly as possible. He winced, numbness spreading through his hands as paresthesia set in. Valjean once again found himself abruptly turned around then pushed towards the door, a stern voice behind him saying, "March!"

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><p>The review button. It calls to you. Even if you don't like it, I'd love to hear from you too. Criticism helps one grow.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

3

Javert was lost. It had Valjean wondering how the man had even found his office in the first place. He had given the bristling inspector directions to the nearest police station but before they could leave the building, the light snowfall that covered the rolling hills with a dusting of white had become a raging storm. Valjean was particularly grateful for the sudden weather because he feared it would fare very badly for the inspector when he arrived at the station. Jean Valjean had become well known in the area as an upstanding citizen and Javert was no longer a part of the force. No doubt he would go raving mad when they took _him_ and not Valjean into custody for unlawful imprisonment. He would face serious charges then, a man who lived by and upheld the law above all else. It wouldn't be right.

While one man was grateful, the other was anything but. Javert was furious, torn between his obsessive need to carry out justice and his common sense screaming at him to keep out of the storm. A voice in the back of his mind urged him to carry out his vengeance and he struggled to regain control of logical thought. His prisoner _was_ in custody, and it _would _be prudent to stay inside until the weather cleared. If he did venture out there was also a chance of Valjean escaping again, despite his cooperation so far.

"We will stay here for the night," he informed the convict brusquely. Valjean gave a muted sigh of relief and nodded. Taking hold of his prisoner's arm, the inspector directed him toward the "elevator." They had taken it on the way down and Javert had marveled at its efficiency of transportation.

It suddenly occurred to the dedicated officer that not only was he unfamiliar with his surroundings, he had no idea where his quarters were. He remembered nothing of where he had come from or how he had found the superintendent's office. Did he even live in the building? He stopped short, unsure of how to proceed. Valjean, sensing his distress, softly cleared his throat.

"Monsieur, since you are unable to fulfill you duties tonight, my rooms are at your service." Having barely escaped the embarrassment of having nowhere to go, he nodded, signaling Valjean to proceed.

They arrived with little fuss, each man in his own world of thought. Due to the storm, most of the residents were inside their own rooms keeping warm and passing the time. Thankfully, this meant that the corridors were deserted. If anyone had been privy to the situation, a commotion would have undoubtedly ensued.

Javert looked at the door then back to his captive, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"The key?"

"In my right pocket." Nodding, he made to search the other man's jacket.

"Ahem, sorry, uh… pants pocket."

Pursing his lips in irritation, Javert reluctantly reached into the pocket, uncomfortable with the proximity in which he found himself with the man he had hunted for the better part of his life. The pants were well tailored, the pockets deep, and try as he might, Javert could not keep his hand from sliding down Valjean's leg as he sought the elusive key. The convict was equally unsettled, looking away from his captor to try and regain some sense of dignity. Finally grasping the thing Javert quickly removed his hand and opened the door.

The residence was clean and sparsely decorated, enough for one man to be comfortable. Javert found himself thinking how it resembled his own accommodations, that is, the ones he thought he had. The one difference was that the quality of the furniture was much higher then anything the inspector had ever owned. He scowled.

"How much did you steal and con to be able to afford such a living?" Valjean tensed but remained silent. It would do him no good to try and defend himself. Javert would never believe him anyway. He made his way through the front room to the kitchenette. Javert followed close on his heals, suspicious of an attack. But Valjean simply sat down at the table, exhausted from the events of the day. His paperwork alone would have been enough without throwing _this_ on the fire.

"You wouldn't begrudge a man his supper, would you? You're more than welcome to join me." Javert eyed him questioningly, but saw only a tired and hungry man. Shrugging, he nodded his consent.

"Ah, but I am afraid you will have to prepare it, unless you see fit to release me for a few minutes." The inspector thought for a moment, frowned, then motioned for him to stand. Valjean was in no shape to make an escape attempt presently, he could see that clearly. He would have to have his hands free to eat anyway and Javert had to admit he was quite famished himself. The cuffs fell away and Valjean rubbed blood back into his raw wrists. Thanking the inspector he set about his task.

The meal wasn't fancy but it was filling and flavorful. Valjean even swore he saw Javert relax a little. After the dishes were done, Valjean went to prepare his evening toilet. Javert was being unusually lenient and allowed his prisoner to proceed unfettered. But as Valjean stepped into his room, Javert grabbed him by the collar, the clink of chains following soon after.

"At least allow me a moment to remove my coat and shoes," Valjean pleaded, ready to collapse onto his inviting bed.

"Be quick about it," was the curt reply. Jacket, waistcoat, cravat, shoes and stockings were laid on a nearby chair. He even stole a moment to unbutton his cuffs. Sighing, the captive obediently returned to the doorway.

"Very well, monsieur, I am ready now." The manacles were replaced but this time not as tightly. It would be awkward sleeping with his hands behind his back, but he was so fatigued that the thought of discomfort barely registered.

"Wait," he called out as Javert started to close the door. "The room next to this one is unoccupied and you are welcome to use it." Another nod and he was gone. The door closed, cutting off all light to the room, and the key turned in the lock. As if Javert didn't feel secure enough having his prisoner chained.

Valjean pushed the thought from his mind, got into bed, managed to pull the bedclothes mostly over himself, and fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

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><p>As always, reviews are most welcome and appreciated.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

I try to be as accurate as possible in regard to characters, settings, backgrounds, etc., however for this story I have integrated the feelings and emotions of the musical version of Javert simply because he is more likely to show them in the musical than in the book. Also, because our favorite Frenchmen are in a _different story_ dealing with _different circumstances_, their reactions will be somewhat changed from the norm. Therefore, please take that into account while reading.

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><p>4<p>

Javert barely slept. He had tried at first, stripped down to his shirt and trousers. The bed was comfortable, the room dark, the soft noise of the storm outside soothing. He had drifted off for half an hour when the creaking of floorboards reached his ears. He shot out of bed, rushing to Valjean's door. But as he waited, heart pounding, mind racing, he heard laughter and more footsteps. They were coming from the room above.

After that, he couldn't sleep. He redressed, made up the barely used bed and made use of an armchair in the front room. The rest of the night was spent in contemplation, trying to figure out exactly where he was, and how he had gotten there. The last thing he could remember was being assigned to gather intelligence about the revolutionaries in the guise of a civilian. He had listened to their drivel on the street corners of Paris. They were nothing but young pups who thought they knew something of the world. But they were traitors and he would see justice done. He would slip into their ranks, a willing and ready volunteer to their cause, discover their plans and plant any false information he could to disrupt their objectives.

He had not thought seriously about Valjean for a long time. Thoughts of the man still entered his mind from time to time, suspicions of whether he was still alive. It had been years since he had seen the convict hurrying away from his residence in the Gorbeau House on the Boulevard de l'Hôpital. He had escaped once again as if into thin air. But how had he come to be here? And where was that whore's bastard child he had had with him?

Valjean's words from earlier echoed in his mind. Dead? Impossible! And yet… the world around him was so changed he was unsure what to believe. Contraptions that seemed made of magic whirred all around him. His mother's stories, long forgotten in the labyrinth of suppressed memories, came floating back like a scent one cannot quite place.

He shook his head violently, scattering the thoughts that threatened his purpose. The only constant was the law. No matter how altered or distorted the world became for him he would always have a guiding light. And at this moment, when all else seemed blurred by uncertainties, his sense of duty rooted him firmly to his objective. He would not become distracted by such trivialities again.

A clock ticked away the hours till morning. He had managed to doze once or twice but it had been a restless night. There were no windows in the room he occupied and it wasn't until he heard Valjean stirring in the adjacent room that he became aware of the time. Groggily he checked the clock; ten minutes to seven. An awkward knocking was heard followed by a muffled voice calling for him.

Javert ignored the summons, settling deeper into the armchair with a sneer. _He _would decide when to let his prisoner out.

"Inspecteur? …Javert? Are you awake?" Javert scowled at the use of his name.

"Quiet you!" he shouted at his unfortunate captive. The man had spent too much time in stolen freedom and had forgotten how to respect true authority. He was no longer in a position of power and Javert would see that he remembered it.

He rested for a little longer then went into the kitchenette. Through the small window he could see that the storm had reduced in strength over the course of the night and he should be able to go out into it without too much trouble.

Satisfied that his prisoner was secure, Javert locked the front door and strode purposefully down the hall without a backward glance. He passed numerous residents on his way, no doubt trying to make up for lost time caused by the storm. Many people seemed to recognize him and showed it by either smiling or avoiding him altogether. The latter he was used to and approved of heartily but the cordiality made him irritable. People did not _smile_ at Javert. He was an intimidating figure with a reputation that put fear in the hearts of every criminal that heard his name. He had once arrested seven outlaws who were so terrified of him that they had refused to fight. He had collected the band without firing a single shot. Yet now he was waved and smiled at like some friendly neighbor. Who did these people think he was? He scowled at the next person to smile and was quite pleased when they scurried off without a backward glance. His mood slightly improved, he retraced his steps, found the ground floor exit and braced himself for the biting cold.

Javert had never been so insulted in his life. He had told the officers at the police station of Jean Valjean's true identity, of how he was a convict and a fugitive of the law. Their response had made him angrier then he even thought possible.

"The new superintendent?" One of them had asked.

"No, the scoundrel masquerading as one!" The men had laughed in his face then, commenting on how he must be one of the "newcomers," and told him to go home and sleep off whatever he'd been drinking the night before. They had been cheeky and disrespectful before but this was beyond his level of patience. Javert had been so outraged by the experience that he hadn't tried to press the matter any further and stormed out of the building into the wind and snow.

"Those are no officers of the law!" he growled between clenched and slightly chattering teeth. "They aren't worthy to wear a uniform… Damn this accursed weather!" He shivered, his jacket not much help against the snow that blew in his face and down his neck. His greatcoat and hat had been left somewhere before his initial encounter with Valjean the previous day. Strangely enough he still had his cane but it did him little good now.

Finally the complex came into sight and he hurried to get inside. Once out of the snow he shook the flakes and cold off his jacket and made his way back upstairs. But the warmth of the building only penetrated skin-deep, leaving his heart icy cold. The frustrations of the day weighed heavily upon him. If the police did not recognize a villain when they saw one, he would have to do his duty as an enforcer of the law and take matters into his own hands.

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><p>Another chapter down. Please tell me what you thought of it.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Basically the same disclaimer as in the previous chapter. Due to the goings-on within this story, the characters will act in ways that they have not previously, having never had to deal with such a situation before. Therefore, please be open to otherwise slightly out-of-character reactions and emotions. I have tried to be as true to the characters as possible.

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><p>5<p>

It was after noon when Valjean heard the key turn in the outer door, no doubt Javert returning. He had been locked in all morning trying to think of a way out of his situation. He hadn't been able to come up with much. He hoped his captor would be in better spirits and more open to reason. It was a long shot, knowing Javert, but Valjean had little else to hope for short of a miracle.

The door slammed closed, jostling the entire residence. Jacket and dripping cravat were thrown on the nearest chair without the slightest regard for the uniform. Soaked trousers clung to frozen legs and a damp waistcoat had barely kept the shirtfront and chest beneath it dry. The cold, wet clothing only added to his temper, throwing wood on the proverbial fire. It was finally time to exact justice on the man who had evaded him for so long.

The bedroom door opened. Valjean's pacing stopped immediately as he turned to face the menacing figure standing in his doorway. He could tell immediately that something was not right. Javert, always calm and collected, hiding his emotions from everyone, stood shaking with hatred. Something within him had finally snapped stripping away all thoughts of duty and leaving only rage.

"They're fools," it rumbled as it approached. "They all think you're a good man." An arm rose to attack, light glinting off the head of a cane. "But they don't know you for what you really are!"

The cane collided with Valjean's shoulder, narrowly missing his head. His clavicle broke with a sickening crack. He staggered backwards, crying out in agony as the fractured bone tore through his flesh. Warm blood oozed from the gruesome wound, soaking his shirt and leaving him dizzy. Through the haze of his pain Valjean was unable to prepare for the kick to his stomach. The blow knocked him flat. Javert smiled evilly at the sight of his quarry suffering at his feet. He vented his anger on his captive, a kick or blow from his cane punctuating every sentence.

"You have everyone fooled. They think you a respectable man. Even those fools who dare to call themselves policemen can't see you for what you truly are. They don't see the scheming convict beneath that mask of politeness and amiability. But I do and you will evade me no longer! You are in my grasp now and I will see justice done!"

But as he raised his arm for the final blow, a vision of an alleyway appeared before him. He was thrust up against a wall. Cold metal against his wrists then the snicker-snack of rope being cut. He turned around to see Monsieur Leblanc, no, Jean Valjean standing before him with a knife.

"Go."

"Setting me free won't save you." But Valjean merely shook his head sadly.

"If I survive this battle, you will find me at number 7, Rue de l'Homme-Armé."

The vision faded with the sound of a gunshot. Then its force hit Javert fully. Memories flooded back to him, the barricades, the sewers, the cold water filling his lungs. He did not notice the cane drop from his hands, or the quick fluid motion that guided him towards the object of his frustration. He fell to his knees, grabbing Valjean by the shirtfront and raising him inches away from his own face.

"Why?" the question was soft at first, almost pleading. Then the anger and confusion burst from inside him. "Why? Why do I see two paths before me when all my life I have only known one? The law is absolute and unyielding! It has no pity or remorse. It _must_ be carried out. And I, who have lived by the letter of the law, been strict with others as with myself, and have hunted you for years for crimes which you have committed cannot now justify your arrest. In that alley, when you had the chance to kill me, to save yourself from a man who knew your true identity, you refused to do so. I _expected_ death, revenge for what I had done to you. But you spared my life, even going so far as to tell me the location of your home so that I might yet arrest you. Your discretionary sense of justice, your kindness to those who deserved punishment enraged me! And yet when I had you in my grasp, when you were vulnerable, that boy slung across your shoulders, you begged me to let you save him and I, in a state of bewilderment, granted you not only that request but also to say farewell to that girl you had taken in. I said I would wait for you, but I could not. You are a conundrum, an enigma I could not understand. Despite all I had done, you showed me mercy and said you blamed me for nothing. You lived a good life and helped many people as the Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer. I was even informed that the King himself wished to present you with the Croix d'honneur. If I had stayed in the Rue de l'Homme-Armé you would have come with me willingly and without resistance. How could I condemn a man who by law requires punishment and yet has done such good for others?"

The question lingered in the air suffocating Javert with its weight. He had released Valjean, laying him down softly on the floor, and leaned back against the bed, head in hands. He had never expressed so much emotion in his life and it made him feel tired and weak. Valjean struggled to a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the pain from his mangled shoulder and bruised ribs. The inspector's words had shocked him even more then his outburst of violence. He was a cold, distant man who led a solitary life and the outpouring of emotion that he had just witnessed left Valjean in a state of bewilderment.

"But… why suicide? You were a loyal officer. You could have continued to uphold the law." Javert looked away, disgusted with himself.

"No. I was unfit for duty. I deserved to be dismissed in disgrace. I had let you go free when the law demanded you be arrested immediately… and it had pleased me to do so. I was conflicted, for the first time in my life unsure if the law was really supreme. To arrest you would have been morally wrong but in order to satisfy myself I went against everything that I had fought to uphold. And… with my death there would be no one left who knew your true identity. You would be able to live truly as a free man without the fear of imprisonment or death hanging over you. My duty to arrest you no longer mattered if I was dead. No, Valjean, I could not save us both."

A heavy silence engulfed the two men, crushing them with its weight. Javert studied his hands, the blood that now stained them a sickening reminder of what he had just done.

"So, I have become a Judas after all…"

Gently he pulled Valjean to his feet then carefully removed the cuffs. Grasping the bedpost for support, the older man sat heavily on the bed, his head still spinning from the pain. He realized too late the door closing again.

"Javert!" he rushed to the door in time to hear the key turn in the lock. "Javert wait!" The front door opened and closed and Valjean jiggled the handle, desperate to get out. Javert was harsh on others but even more so on himself and Valjean feared the inspector might do something drastic as penance. He remembered reading the report of Javert's suicide. His body had been fished out of the Seine, hands bound in his own cuffs. He had left them on the floor but that didn't allay Valjean's fears. Throwing his body against the door, he tried to break it down. His body throbbed, the pain worsening with every attempt at freedom. But the only thought in his mind was of Javert's safety.

"I was helpless to save him before but I'll be damned if I stand by and wait for him to kill himself again!" He was tired and beaten. Any other man would have collapsed long ago but his strength came from a well with no bottom. The door splintered under the force of his blows and he rushed out into the hallway.

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><p>I must restate that Javert's occ-ness is partially due to that fact that he has had a lot of time to dwell on his past and the events which led to his death and has finally come to terms with his feelings. If you are not aware of the Roommates universe, please use the link in the first chapter. If you likeddisliked, please feel free to review.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all for the comments. Yes, I know the last chapter was a little strange and the inspector we know would never act so aggressively. All I have to say on that account is plot-devices.

As to injuries sustained, I do understand that open clavicle fractures are uncommon but take into consideration the force of the blow from a heavy lead-tipped cane that Hugo describes as "massive," and the fact that Valjean, while very strong, is still a man in the later stages of life. As we grow older, the elasticity of our bones fades, leaving them brittle (which is why the elderly can break a hip just by falling). So um…yeah. That's my explanation for that. Javert without cane would have done a lot less damage. _

Please bear with me. This story is going in a, hmm, different direction then I thought it would at the beginning. That being said, if updates do not occur every five days as per usual I apologize but I am currently on vacation, school is starting up again soon and I have a lot on my plate at the moment. I do intend to bring this to a close so I do not want to give the impression of leaving it unfinished. It may just take a wee bit longer to do so.

This chapter may be confusing to those of you who are not acquainted with the Roommates comic (since that is really what this is based on). Therefore, **all pairings/character choices are the ideas of AsheRhyder.** Sorry for the long intro.

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><p>6<p>

Javert was nowhere to be found. Valjean ran around the building searching for him, asking anyone he passed if they had seen him. He was met with cries of horror at his appearance but not a single sighting to help his cause. He went to his apartment and pounded on the door frantically. All classes had been cancelled due to the weather and Valjean prayed James was still home. Sure enough, the door was answered promptly and a half-clad James Norrington gasped when he saw the bruised and bloodied form of the superintendent.

"Mister Valjean! What on earth happened?"

"I'm sorry, there's no time to explain now. Is Javert home?"

"No. In fact I haven't seen him since yesterday. Is he in trouble?"

"I don't know yet but I think he might try to… repeat certain actions which would prove extremely hazardous and potentially fatal."

"Oh no. There aren't any bridges nearby are there? Have you searched the building?"

"Yes. He's nowhere in sight. He must have gone outside."

"In this weather? We have to find him fast! I'll help you look. I think I can get Erik and Jareth to help as well."

"Thank you. Any and all help is much appreciated. I need to find some more appropriate attire so I'll let you get ready yourself and meet you and whoever you enlist on the first floor in ten minutes."

"Lobby in ten minutes. Got it." Valjean rushed off and James ran to his room to put on something other then sweatpants. As he ransacked his closet, a pair of arms snaked around his chest.

"Jamie, come back to bed," the voice purred against his back. He sighed, turning in her grasp.

"I can't. I have to go help look for Javert."

"Javert!" James could hear the contempt in her voice. "We finally have some time alone together and you want to go looking for _Javert_?"

"I know this is unfair to you Éponine, but he's in serious trouble right now. I promise I'll make this up to you somehow, ok?" She huffed but kissed him anyway. She never could refuse those beautiful green eyes.

"You'd better not forget."

xxx

Jareth lay sprawled on the couch in an undignified heap. Frantic knocking fell on deaf ears as the deposed Goblin King had wrapped a pillow around his head to drown out the "noise" his roommate was producing. Over the sound of his piano Erik had heard the summons and, sighing, called to his flat mate to answer the door. When no response was given and the knocking continued, the exasperated musician rose, carefully closed the keyboard cover and made his way to the anteroom where his bane resided.

"Sulking again?" he jibed at the lounging fae.

"I'm not sulking you pompous French peacock," he huffed angrily. Erik smirked at the remark in amusement and made his way to the door.

"Touchy. Love troubles? Or should I say stalking troubles?"

"Oh yes, you should know all about that," he shot back. Erik stopped at the couch and peered down his nose at his adversary.

"Not taking the cute owl ploy anymore is she? Maybe you should be a man and talk to her about it face to face." Jareth wheeled on the phantom.

"I will not take advice from a deformed recluse who had to brainwash the girl he wanted because she would never have come willingly!"

"And I will not be insulted by a frivolous fairy who kidnaps children!"

"She wanted me to take him!"

The pillow hit Erik full in the face, and he had to catch his mask before it fell away. They were at each other's throats then, glitter, rope and insults flying, when a loud banging interrupted their fight. Both men turned towards the door in aggravation.

"WHAT?" They yelled in unison. James' muffled voice came from the hallway.

"Cease your incessant quarreling and open the bloody door! It's important!" Erik shot Jareth a look that could peel paint, reclaimed his lasso, and complied with James' request. Once inside, the former commodore related to them what he had been told minutes previous by the superintendent.

"Is he really going to try and do himself in again?" Jareth asked as he "magic-ed" himself into some warmer clothes. Erik scowled at the glitter that covered the couch and surrounding carpet but kept quiet for his fellow countryman's sake.

"That's what Mr. Valjean thinks. He's known Javert for longer then any of us have, being from the same story and all." Erik nodded his assent.

"And if he does decide to try something drastic we need to find him before he succeeds in doing so."

Worried over the well being of their friend, the trio quickly dressed and made their way to the rendezvous point. After meeting downstairs, James, Jareth, Erik and Valjean split up to look for the missing inspector. The storm had gotten worse into the early evening and it was almost impossible to see anything. If it hadn't been for Jareth's magic, they never would have found him. He was lying facedown in the snow, almost completely covered and freezing cold. He was still alive, but just barely.

Quickly, they carried him inside and Valjean insisted he be put up in his rooms. The other three didn't argue. They got him into bed, used every blanket they could find and cranked the radiator way up. Jareth did what he could to help the process along and when all were satisfied that Javert wouldn't die of cold they said their goodbyes and left the two Frenchmen alone.


	7. Chapter 7

7

The heat was suffocating. Javert had awoken face down in sand that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. An enormous red sun beat down on him, merciless and cruel. Staggering to his feet he began to search for any signs of civilization. He wandered for hours, mouth dry, head pounding, searching for shade, water, anything. Finally the vicious star sank in the west only to be replaced by another. He collapsed in the sand, unable to take the heat any longer.

"Not even a trial," he muttered to himself. "Well, probably for the best…"

A splash of cold water brought him stark awake. Eyes fluttered open to a white ceiling. He was in a bed, comfortable but blazing hot. His face was surprisingly cool and he felt something drip down his cheek. Reaching up he found a cold washcloth had been applied to his forehead. His first thought was, "Where am I?" The second he spoke aloud.

"I should be dead."

"You almost were." Javert started in surprise. Valjean came into his line of vision, a glass in his hand. "We were worried about you."

"We?" Javert said before he could stop himself. His head was pounding and he closed his eyes to the pain.

"I enlisted the help of your friends; two Englishmen, one of whom was dressed very strangely, and a Frenchman with a mask." Javert groaned inwardly, mentally strangling each of his saviors in turn. They couldn't just leave well enough alone. "It was lucky we found you when we did," Valjean continued as he sat down in a chair beside the bed. "Half an hour more and you'd have been dead for sure. You were half-dead already. Without the help of Jareth's magic, you would not have recovered."

"It seems you have once again saved my life when I did not want you to."

"And once again you have foolishly tried to throw it away. Why must you punish yourself so?"

"When one slips up they must face justice. To do otherwise is to throw society into chaos. I don't want your help or pity. I've had enough of your 'kindness.'"

"Javert, please. If you remember everything then you must know that your life here is different. You have friends who care about you. Leave the past behind and live the new life that has been given to you."

"Why do you care what happens to me?" he snapped then added in a hushed tone, "You should hate me."

"I could never hate you," Valjean answered softly. "We are two sides of the same coin, opposite yet essential to the other's existence. If it weren't for you, I would not have been rediscovered in Montreuil-sur-Mer, for it was you who informed me of the trial to condemn a man the state thought to be me. And were it not for me… you would have not drowned in the Seine."

"True. I would have been shot in the head by one of those revolutionaries instead. You are very quick to forget your own acts of mercy." Valjean raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"And you are usually so eager to dismiss them. But come, let's put our argument on hold. At present, I am more worried about your health. Now, sit up and drink this." Javert stared at his caretaker in horror.

"I will not be nursed like some babe. If you wish to help me you will allow me to leave."

"Out of the question. You will remain here until I say otherwise."

"Really Valjean, are you that desperate for company?" he said as he tried to stand. But he was stopped before he could pull back the bed covers and two strong arms pushed him firmly into the mattress.

"Like it or not, Javert, you are _my_ prisoner now and you will leave only when I see fit to release you." Javert sighed, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts. He _was _in no condition to leave or even stand for that matter. His attempt at escape moments ago had left him dizzy and breathless. Even if he did manage to get out of the bed, he would not make it very far.

"Very well," he answered at last, still avoiding Valjean's gaze. "I am indebted to you for saving my life, even though it was against my wishes. I suppose I owe you that much at least."

Valjean smiled and sighed in relief. The inspector really was a stubborn man. At least he had the common sense to realize that he needed time to recuperate.

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><p>I do apologize for the short length of this chapter but the next update will not be as long in coming.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

I apologize profusely that I completely, yet quite unintentionally, lied to you all about updating sooner. School is torturing me slowly with lab reports and exams and looking for jobs and trying not lose my head in the process. I'm stealing time just to put this up. Therefore, I beg you gentle readers, be kind and indulge me a little more with your patience. I will do what I can.

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><p>8<p>

Valjean had gone to attend to his duties as superintendent and had left the inspector alone. Javert had had to promise to stay in bed and not to do any further injury to himself before his caretaker left. Exasperated at the request, Javert had reluctantly grated out the assurance, knowing it would bind him irrevocably. The man may have had a skewed sense of justice but his word was good and Valjean trusted him to keep it. And so the older Frenchman went off without a second thought on the subject and left the invalid to drown in his own thoughts.

Javert had several hours to think about what had happened during the past two days. It left him quiet and sullen, aching for something to occupy his mind. He did not sleep, as Valjean had told him to do, but he did not leave either. He simply lay in bed, propped up on some pillows, contemplating his life and it's meaninglessness. But it wasn't until the former convict re-entered the room that he at last felt the gravity of his actions toward his savior.

"How are you feeling?" The super asked cheerily.

"Well enough." Valjean smiled at the curt reply and strode towards his desk. There he retrieved the discarded linen that he had laid aside the day previous. Folding the clothing over an arm he returned to place a hand on Javert's brow. The inspector wanted to shy away but knew any resistance would be futile. He allowed the contact out of necessity, looking down to regain some dignity. It was only then that he saw the reddish-brown smears across stark white cloth.

"Ah!" Javert exclaimed unwittingly as he saw the bloodied shirt and remembered the earlier fight. Valjean looked at him worriedly.

"Is something wrong?"

"Your… your shirt," he said dumbly, realizing too late the absurdity or his outburst.

"Oh." Valjean looked down at the cloth, embarrassed at the position in which he had placed the inspector. "Yes. I left it here last night. I must have forgotten to take it with me to the other room."

"And you?" Javert queried hesitantly, his gaze locked on the dried blood. "Are you…"

"In perfect health," Valjean said with a smile, placing a hand to his collar. "M. Jareth was kind enough to attend to it before we left to… well to find you," he finished awkwardly. But if the older man had laid a clumsy hand on a still open wound, Javert did not seem to mind or object. He nodded mutely, his eyes once more downcast. He was quiet and submissive, as he had been to Valjean when he was still Monsieur le Maire. In his office, Javert had been apologetic, self-derogatory, asking to be dismissed in disgrace for his "crime." He seemed very much the same man now and worry bubbled in Valjean's mind.

"Perhaps I should not have left him alone after all," he thought anxiously. He set down the offending clothing, carefully placed to keep any stains out of sight. He then sat in the chair he had placed earlier by the bedside, unsure of how to proceed. If having a conversation had been uncomfortable before, this was downright awkward.

"Were you all right while I was away?" Valjean asked quietly. Javert nodded again but refused to look up. Silence descended once more on the unfortunate pair and Valjean chewed his lip absently, trying to think of a way to change the mood.

"Take some water," he said at last, at a loss of how to handle things. "It will help with the fever." Javert complied, obedient as a child. He did not shake off the hand that helped him to a sitting position and even allowed Valjean to raise the glass to his lips, not a word of protest uttered. Valjean refreshed the cold compress then sat back to watch his patient. Javert shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of his caretaker. Fiddling with the hem of the sheet he very abruptly voiced his thoughts.

"About the harm I've done you, I apologize Valjean. I was in the wrong." He had been very direct but then added uncertainly, "I… I don't know what came over me."

"It's over now, think on it no more. Whatever happened to your memory must have influenced you somehow."

"I attacked you in anger, I could have killed you! Regardless of what caused my actions, I am still responsible. You madden me! After everything I've put you through in both this life and the last, you continue to show me kindness."

"It was once a man who showed me mercy and kindness when I had done him wrong," he replied quietly. "Despite what you think of yourself and what you've done, I believe there is a good man hidden beneath that cold, severe exterior. You just need to allow him to live." Javert turned and looked into Valjean's eyes for the first time, confused and surprised by his statement. They were kind, confident and reassuring.

"You've changed in your time here," he continued gently. "I've seen how you act with the others and how you have begun to let go of your past. I cannot imagine how this must throw you into turmoil but perhaps it is good for you to realize that while the past is still a part of you, you can't allow it to control the new life you've begun."

"Valjean, I…"

"Shhh," he interrupted, laying a hand on the inspector's shoulder. "Rest now. We will talk more later." Javert made to protest but at a look from Valjean the words died in his throat. He simply looked away. Valjean left the room, sighing after the door was closed behind him. Their next conversation would be difficult, even by their standards.


End file.
